


Tears and Seams All Turn to One

by oxicleanmoron



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, bitches being Signless, bitches get hurt and bitches get comforted, but like literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxicleanmoron/pseuds/oxicleanmoron
Summary: Almost titled "Stop Removing FCS Classes From the Alternian Education Curriculum" because the Psiioniic learns the power of arts and crafts due to the guilt over letting his pale crush get shot.
Relationships: The Disciple/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman/The Signless | The Sufferer, The Disciple/The Signless | The Sufferer, The Psiioniic | The Helmsman/The Signless | The Sufferer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Tears and Seams All Turn to One

**Author's Note:**

> i promise this fic is better than its summary
> 
> title is from Razia's Shadow- Genesis

You see it happen in the haze of your peripherals. You could’ve sworn you had his back well covered, but you never calculated guns to a sermon fight. Didn’t think his work were quite popular enough for that yet. You hear the hiss of the air being sliced through followed by the pained shout of Signless right behind you. A clean rifle shot had made it through your defenses and right into his bicep like it was nothing. You lock eyes with the cerulean attacker and implode their gun like a crumpled piece of parchment.

You hurriedly form a defensive psionic bubble around you and Sign. He is on the ground desperately grasping at his- now limp -arm, teeth bared. Scarlet blood seeps out between his fingers, staining his cloak and the surrounding area. You aren’t too far away from the First Ship, and you’re currently not very willing to see how far this goes.

Thankfully, Disciple catches wind of the situation and pounces in your direction. You nod at each other, silently agreeing on the plan, as you break the bubble to go on the offense. Disciple takes Signless and the remaining freed trolls back to the ship as you stay back to finish the rest of the attackers off. Sign would have definitely protested this idea, advising to preach at them until they keel over from pure boredom, if he weren’t currently smearing a cull-worthy pattern all over the canopy floor. He knows you can hold your own, and yet he worries himself regardless.

You keep the attackers distracted with some fanciful psionics: blind them until everyone is out of earshot so they won’t hear the sound of their heads being lobbed off. You make sure their deaths are quick before following the direction everyone else ran.

You somehow managed to miss one crucial character to the plot. The cerulean you pissed off earlier manages to remain hot on your tail as you run from the battle field, weaving through the underbrush with a defined grace that would terrify you if you didn’t believe you still had the upper hand. Well- you thought you had the upper hand until they lunge at you from behind, their arms swinging around your neck in a choke hold. You both spin onto the canopy floor, the cerulean managing to stay on top and pin you on your back. They pull out a knife from a side pocket which you wrestle out of their grasp, sending it flying somewhere else in the forest, hopefully getting lodged in a tree. You can feel the blood trickling from your palm where the blade cut into you. Their pupils contract into sharp slits and they hiss like some feral beast. You know you’ll regret using your psionics so close range, there’s always some recoil to the effects, but you let the pressure build behind your eyes. You grip their face with your bleeding palm as their teeth snap with a terrifying voracity. You don’t hesitate as you blast a hole through their maw to the back of their skull. It’s like watching a firecracker go off except you are also unfortunately covered in cerulean viscera. You toss their decapitated body onto the trampled grass, wipe enough of the grime from your face so you can see, haul ass back onto the ship, and set off. 

====

Once you’re certain everyone is relatively in one piece, you spare yourself a moment to catch your breath. Definitely not the worst sermon held - plenty of trolls showed up, and you were able to arrange some of their relocations - but it’s hard to prepare for ambushes. At the same time, he is planning a revolution against everything the empire is built upon, so guess you can’t judge when trolls get antsy. You were antsy too, originally, but now it makes sense. Well- more sense. Just then, a dull, throbbing pain pulses at your temples and behind your ganderbulbs, and you know it’s only going to get worse. You head to your private ablution block to get some medication as well as wash the blood off your hands. Horrorterrors forbid Sign seeing you decorated in blood that wasn’t your own- or any blood, for that matter. You would prefer not to send him into a bigger fit than necessary.

====

Your stash of medical supplies is hidden in a secret cubby only the inner circle know how to get to for safety measures. You pull it out and shuffle through it, only to discover jack of shit of what you actually need. You most likely left it in the medical wing. You try to stay out of that area as much as possible. Even though this med block is much less stark white and copper-smelling, it can occasionally throw you into the wrong headspace. You make a mental note to stop by there once you stop leaving a trail of cerulean wherever you go.

After splashing copious amounts of water on your face, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You’ve looked worse- much worse actually. Nothing will ever beat your “fresh out of hell” phase that lasted for a solid perigee. Your hair is currently standing on end, adding a slight charred smell to the air. One of your eyes won’t stop twitching but not enough to draw immediate attention to it. Your teeth are still as mangled as always, but hey, you brushed them somewhat recently; that must count for something. 

You got away from the ambush pretty unscathed. There are scratches here and there, but they’ve thankfully scabbed over. The cut on your hand should heal in due time, but it’s currently stinging like a bitch. Some of the other troll’s blood got into the cut, and your immune system is not too pleased about it. You douse your hand in antiseptic and totally don’t say twenty-two variations of the word “fuck” as you do so. You hurriedly grab some bandages with your other hand and wrap it as tightly as possible. One of the many perks of being ambidextrous you suppose. 

The only blood that remains is from the cerulean which you meticulously scrub off. Your outer layers of clothing are unsalvageable, so you strip down to your insulated jumpsuit. You kick your sullied clothes into the corner for later. Other than the pan ache and your hand, you look normal…ish. It’s whatever. You go about fixing your hair into a half-assed ponytail to get it out of the way and shrug the rest off as a nonissue.

====

You really should have expected it, and yet you’re still thrown aback by the situation you walk into in the medical block. Disciple is sewing up the shallow scar on Signless’s arm, his head turned away from the scene in twisted pain. His back is leaning against the wall, and his legs spread outwards on the medical plank. He looks like a tiny wiggler at their first check-up which you do find somewhat amusing. He’s even got the pout to match. He’s only in his pants; his cloak and scarves discarded elsewhere.

He perks up when you walk in, a small, close-lipped smile on his face. You bet he’s partially faking it because you know from personal experiences stitches are by no means comfortable. At the same time, that troll does have a pusher bigger than his pan, so you’re at a loss. You try not to stare at the Disciple, but it’s hypnotic watching her hands work elegantly to pull the skin back together. She holds the curved needle like she’s conducting music: precise and deliberate.

Someone, somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, says it reminds you of being retrofitted with your spinal ports back when you were in training. It was a indigoblood carrying out the procedure because why wouldn’t it be; they’re the only highbloods to not instinctively want to murder gutterbloods. They only sedated you to the point where you couldn’t move, but you were still semi-conscious during the operation. You can still feel your skin being stretched over the cold metal; their gloves stained with your blood into a muddy piss color. The muffled screams from the other rooms - or maybe that was you - could be heard over the whirring of saws and the picking of tools. You think they threatened sewing your mouth shut at some point.

You lose yourself for a moment when Sign snaps you back to reality.

“Looking for something?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I think someone left my migraine meds here. Wanted to put them back.” 

His smile falters slightly. “Are you feeling well? You’re not hurt, are you?”

You really don’t need him worrying about you at this moment. You’re already feeling somewhat ill.

“No yeah, I promise I’m fine. Just focus on-“ you vaguely gesture to his arm “-that, first. Please.”

“You know I care about you.”

“Me too!” Disciple lovingly chimes in.

“And I care about both of you too, but you know that also means I want you to put your health before mine. At least this time, okay?” 

He thankfully backs off, nodding his head. Disciple cuts back in. “Well if you need eifurr of us, Kankri will be pile-ridden in his respite block, and I will be there to make sure he doesn’t scratch his stitches.”

Signless, overly upset about her reading of his character, improvises some speech about how he would never compromise her handiwork, even if he were itchy. Disciple giggles, and you huff a laugh with her.

You find your meds on the counter and stash them right as you feel a sharp bolt of pain shoot through your pan. You take this as a good enough signal to leave.

They’ve gone silent again, Disciple focussed on making sure her stitches are even and secure while Signless deals with the horrible pinching sensation. You shuffle out before any more conversation can start up again with a “see you two quadrant-smearing squawkbeasts later” and a wave.

====

You lay catatonic on the floor of your own block for a while waiting for the sopor pills to kick in which gives you the perfect amount of time to ponder and reflect. Once you regain some semblance of self, you begrudgingly will yourself off the floor and on your stumps again.

====

You find the Dolorosa in one of the relaxation galleys of the ship. Several other trolls mill about and converse, so she doesn’t notice you at first despite how much of an eye sore you typically are. She is sitting on one of the reclining planks offset in the corner of the block, seemingly at peace with the world. Her hands work fluidly and efficiently, knitting a muted brown garment, likely for one of the dozens of newly freed trolls. You quietly pad over when a particularly rocky wave hitting the boat makes you lose your footing.

Your arms pinwheel for a moment before regaining your composure. The wave, or maybe your clumsiness, seem to garner her attention.

She continues to knit but opens her eyes to meet yours. You immediately break eye contact by bowing your head. She waves you off, so you stop.

“Ma’am-”

“Mother works just as well.” 

“Right. Mm. Muh…ther.“ She nods slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. You clear your throat. “Anyway. This is an odd request, and you are more than welcome to decline. If you were not preoccupied- which I understand and will extrapolate myself from the area if you are- but I was wondering if you could teach me how to- uh hm.”

It takes you a moment, but you point to the right while your other hand makes small circular motions as if you were holding a needle. 

“You want to learn how to sew?” You nod your head.

“I mean, yes, if you weren’t currently busy.”

Her slight smile is radiant. She sets down her knitting supplies in a basket full of yarn next to her, dusts off her skirt, and stands up, basket in tow.

“I would love to. Follow me.”

And follow her you do. 

====

Her respite block is not much different from your own or anyone else’s. She has a small desk and chair set up, and her sewing supplies, garments, and fabrics are neatly placed or folded in piles across the room. You instinctively tuck yourself in further as to not ruin any of her creative processes. She sets the basket down beside a collection of other yarns and wool. There is an extra chair in the corner, currently being occupied by Signless’s cloak draped over it. She pulls it over, so it faces her as she sits in the chair by her desk. You take this as her blessing for you to sit as well. Which you do. Carefully.

“May I inquire as to why you are taking an interest in learning how to sew? If you accidentally tore a garment, I am more than willing to mend it for you.”

You blanch slightly. “No- well it’s not my garment, but I feel at fault for its disrepair.” You lean forward and take the cloak off the back of the chair, folding it neatly in your lap. It’s still damp from being washed of his blood. “Also they don’t teach you how to sew in grubfeeding. Thought it might be helpful.”

Her face is hard to read. It’s like she drained all emotions from her countenance. “Are you saying that you were the one who caused harm to my grub?” Fuck.

“Oh no no no no- no absolutely not.” Your hands flit back and forth. “I just should’ve protected him better. It was a highblood with a modified rifle who did the actual damage.”

She squints at you, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. “And I assume this highblood was taken care of?”

You often forget which side she’s on with the whole Is It Okay to Do a Culling question. You know Kankri obviously objects which is well enough. You and Meulin hold off as much as you can. Dolorosa, however? You draw a blank.

“Uh… yes?” 

Her voice is cold yet proud when she speaks. “Good.”

Oh well-- makes sense that she would be that protective of him.

The conversation stalls momentarily after that very intense and equally awkward exchange. You pick at a loose thread on your pants.

“So about the sewing-” She immediately perks back up.

“Oh, yes. I can teach you.”

====

Apparently teaching a troll with the lowest level of frond-ganderbulb coordination how to sew is quite difficult! Thankfully, you didn’t even need to ask Dolorosa to thread the needle for you since your tremors have been acting up. However, she made sure you could watch her process: pulling the thread through the eye and doubling the thread to give additional security. You at least have enough control to tie the knot at the end. She lets you practice directly on his cloak, using the tattered edges as the testing grounds. You only manage to prick yourself once when you misjudged the direction of the needle going through the back of the fabric.

When she is satisfied with your progress, she gives permission for you to work on the actual hole you wanted to mend. It’s rather large but straight forward. Nothing a simple zig-zag stitch couldn’t fix. She patiently watches over you as you work, keeping a light banter every now and then. She points out several places where your stitches grew too far apart, and you set to work adjusting them as best as possible. You finish the last stitch on the hole, waiting for Dolorosa to walk you through securing your work.

In the end, it’s not terrible. It’s definitely not Dolorosa levels of professionalism, but it’s serviceable. Kankri really isn’t the most fashionable member of the group, so he hopefully won’t notice.

You watch as she puts her sewing supplies back in order, playing with the hem of the cloak. “I quite enjoyed teaching you tonight. I have yet to be given the opportunity to share my love of sewing with someone else.”

“KK doesn’t know how to sew?”

She shakes her head. “He would ask to learn on occasion, but I was too worried he might hurt himself in the process. Needles and all that.” She exhales. “Simpler times back then.”

You crack a smile to lighten the mood. “Fair enough.” You stand up, leaving Signless’s cloak on the chair behind you. “Well, uh, thank you. I guess I should get going.”

“Oh, before you go,” you turn around to face her, “would you mind delivering this to Kankri? He’s quite attached to this old thing.” She has the cloak in her hands, waiting to give it to you. You do as she says and take it, nodding and leaving her respiteblock on your next mission.

====

Surely, enough you find him in his respiteblock, true to Meulin’s orders. He is typically at his desk or on the floor scribbling out drafts upon drafts of sermons to perfect and memorize. What you were not yet prepared for was him nearly being swallowed in his pile of blankets and pillows. His left arm is well bandaged and gently resting against his chest while his coarse hair spills out and around him like a halo. You feel your pusher doing pirouettes in your chest.

He sits up slightly when he sees you and you want to tell him that he really didn’t have to, he looked so pretty laying there, but your filter actually catches your thoughts this time.

“Ah, Tuna, such a lovely sight to see. Come, come join me.” He scooches over in the pile to leave room for you and oh. Oh no.

“Thank you for the offer but it really isn’t necessary-“ He raises his eyebrows and pats the pile.

You… acquiesce. He turns to look at you, and once more you are caught up in the flaming embers of his eyes.

“I thought ML was supposed to be watching you.” 

His nose scrunches for no disernable reason. “She left to go get some new bandages. She’ll be back soon.” You tense at the thought of sitting in her pile spot. He must have noticed the change in the atmosphere of the room, so he paps you on the shoulder along with a quiet shoosh which, seemingly, works well.

“So... what brought you here? It couldn’t have been my dashing good looks… unless?” His eyebrows move so far up his forehead they could be in a different timezone.

You snort and restrain yourself from shoving him. “As if. We all know your charm works on your audience, but I’m well trained on your level of moobeast shit.”

“Oh are you now? Well you haven’t seemed to provide a better reason for why you have joined me in my pile.” Smug looking handsome bastard.

“I’ll have you know that I’m here to deliver something of yours.” You weren’t really hiding it well, but you decaptalogue his cloak, dropping right in between the both of you. He moves to examine it further, feeling the texture of the cloth between the pads of his fingers. He seems enraptured by the thing despite wearing it less than 24 hours ago. At the same time, Dolorosa did say he loved it. He unfolds it, searching for what you can only assume is the large hole in the left sleeve that no longer exists. 

You lightly trace one of your clawtips against the stitching. “I did that.”

His mouth is agape, forming a soft “oh.” He keeps looking between you and the fabric. “You did that?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m not trying to cop off of your mom’s work. What kind of troll do you take me for?” Your face grows warm.

It’s terrible and cliched, but you will never get tired of seeing him smile. “It’s wonderful.” He tugs on the fabric. “-and sturdy too! Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

He pulls himself up further to kiss your cheek, and you feel a tightness overwhelm your chest cavity. You also notice a little too late he’s using his bad arm to reach to your height.

“Hey- hey watch the stitches! I don’t want ML thinking I let you recklessly hurt yourself for the second time tonight.”

“The tear through my cloak was worse than the tear through my bicep.”

“Uh huh, tell that to His Honorable Tyranny.” He laughs and Horrorterrors below this troll could cull you with how sweet his voice plays in your aural slits. He lies back down to cuddle closer to you.

Through some force that was not of your own, you end up loosely curled around Sign like a newly hatched wiggler. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he passed out before you could ask if it was alright for you to stay. Also he’s warm like a campfire which is quite pleasant.

However, you do register Disciple opening the door, but you don’t do much else other than give her a wave with the hand that isn’t trapped under Signless’s fat ass. She signs for you to move over, but you point at your current, unconscious predicament. She signs again for you to move, and you motion even harder at said fat ass. You see her about to tell you for the third time, when you hear a weird snort come from Sign. 

“Mnnnhn… whas’ up?” He feels around, mostly touching your chest and arm, making a shitty effort to actually wake up.

“Move ofur I wanna join you guys.” Disciple nudges Signless on the opposite side. “Also I have furesh bandages.”

Signless grumbles some barely intelligible “okay okay,” scooching further into your territory. You had already moved a little bit to guarantee she had the extra room necessary, but he still remains, largely, laying against you. You can’t imagine it’s very comfortable given your spindly frame, but he makes no comment on the matter. He just makes chitters that you feel resonate through you. You instinctively chitter back as Disciple works on replacing his bandages.

You see her ogling at you from across the Red Sea, so you stick your forked tongue at her. She mimics back but diffuses into tiny giggles. She cuddles up to Signless, before reaching over and drawing a diamond on the back of your bandaged hand. You repeat the motion on her palm.

You doze off on the loose hope that things may not be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> im not really the type to write fics haha so i hope this was somewhat palatable
> 
> you can find me @glassgoblin on twitter or @gutterwatergoblin on tumblr/instagram where im known for my ancestral hot takes and love of women
> 
> anyways stan psiignciple


End file.
